Clannad: Crimson Footsteps
by FistOfLegend
Summary: An unknown event has occurred within the Illusionary World. It leads to a breakdown of the Time-Space Continuum. Tomoya and Nagisa are ripped apart and put on intersecting paths of mutual destruction. A new world is born. A world where retribution is the only law, and violence the only choice.
1. Prologue: Questions

**Prologue:**

Her hands were steady as she raised the gun and pointed it at Tomoya.

"You gonna kill me, or are you just gonna stare me to death?" He said; then smiled, red teeth baring in a rictus of pain.

She hesitated for a moment, and then pulled the trigger. His head exploded in a spray of crimson. Brain and blood and little shards of bone painted the wall behind him. His body crumpled to the floor and he lay there, arms extended like Christ on the cross. The macabre grin remained, framed in gore and the ruin of his face.

Nagisa holstered the Glock .45 and took one last look at him before turning around and walking away. She wondered if she would be able to sleep tonight without dreaming of Ushio. Probably not.

Her cell-phone rang. She answered without looking at it. Only one person would be calling her.

"Commander Sunohara... it's done. I'm coming back now."

She hung up the phone and continued walking. It had been a long day and a longer night. Too many unanswered questions still plagued her. She tried to shove them away, but was unable to completely silence them. In her experience, nothing was ever explained to one's satisfaction. People sought after meaning or answers, all of them looking for explanations of the tragedies that had become of their lives. She used to think life had meaning. But that was a long time ago. In her experience, questions only led to more questions, and before you got your first answer you would have already forgotten the question it belonged to. It was useless, but it was also human nature. The inevitability of mortality. Those words echoed through her soul. Tomoya had said them to her, three years ago. She never found out exactly what he meant. She supposed that she never would, now.

More than anything, she wanted to take a shower.


	2. Chapter 1: Tears

**Chapter 1: Tears**

Tomoya sat up slowly, careful not to let any more of his brains fall out the gaping hole in the back of his head. His right eye was gone, and his left was filled with blood. It would have been hard to see anything, even if the part of his brain that controlled ocular perception wasn't currently sliding down the wall behind him. Maybe he shouldn't have taunted her. He had been expecting her to shoot him in the heart. That was more her style. He almost laughed, but thought better of it. Healing the damage would already take most of the night, and if he lost much more he wouldn't be able to move at all.

He felt a presence come into the room. He kept his grin and turned toward it.

"All in all, I think that went pretty well." He said.

"You should take a look in the mirror before you say that. I didn't think you could get any uglier, but I guess that was pretty short-sighted of me."

Kyou had a way with words. It was part of the reason Tomoya liked having her as his partner, and part of the reason he hated it. Still, she was cool under pressure and deadlier with an edged weapon than anyone he had ever met. Not that she needed any weapon to be deadly.

"You shouldn't underestimate me. I'm capable of pretty much anything when I set my mind to it." Tomoya said, then held out his hand. "Wanna help me up? My legs feel a bit weak right now."

The hand that gripped his was strong, but surprisingly soft. It was always a mystery to him how she kept her hands like that. She practiced enough that she should have calluses the size of beach-balls. He was a regenerator and even he had calluses.

He tottered slightly as he stood up, but thanks to her steadying hand on his shoulder, managed to keep his balance.

"You think she bought it? It'll be a problem if the Company suspects us."

"I think we're in the clear. Hopefully they'll assume we came and picked up your body before they got here." Kyou said. "Kotomi might suspect something, but I've heard she's currently out of favor with the higher-ups. Her experiments in the Illusionary World didn't turn out the way she expected."

Tomoya grimaced, "We might have to do something about her one of these days. She's always been too smart for her own good."

"The boss wants her left alone."

"The boss isn't the one whose life is on the line."

Kyou laughed. "That's true enough. Well, maybe you can talk about it the next time you see her."

"I will. I don't mind doing things her way, but I want an explanation. If was okay with following orders without reasons, I'd be working with the Company."

"Well, you know what they say..." Kyou started.

"Beggars can't be choosers." Tomoya finished. "But then again, I'm no simple beggar."

Kyou looked at him. His skull was already beginning to knit back together.

"I suppose you aren't."

(BREAK)

(BREAK)

Nagisa stepped out of the shower and shivered involuntarily at the coldness of the tile-floor. It was no good. She still didn't feel clean. Killing always left her feeling dirty, but usually a hot shower made it go away. Maybe it was the ring. She looked down at her finger. The simple gold band was the last remaining symbol of her old life. Now that Tomoya was dead, perhaps it was time to take it off. Sunohara was always telling her to cast away the past, but she wasn't quite ready to completely let go. Better times had existed, once. Even if they didn't seem real now. Keeping the ring was a way to remind herself that there was a point to all the bloodshed. Still, she knew that one day she'd have to get rid of it. The Company frowned upon those kinds of sentiments.

Her apartment was in the top story of the tallest building in Tokyo, and had floor to ceiling windows, but somehow she didn't feel exposed when she walked around naked. It was as if the glass separated her from the reality of the city. Up this high, she couldn't see the little lights as being signs of people. There was no emotional connection. It was why she had chosen the place, and why she stayed. It was an inconvenient location, and more than a little conspicuous; but the feeling of isolation that it gave her was enough to make it worth it. There was something liberating about letting herself be viewed by anyone who cared to look. And if she gave a potential sniper an easy target, well, that was a price you paid. She wouldn't live in a hut out of fear.

Tomoya. Fuko. Ryou. All three of them were dead now. All three murdered by her hand. She knew the Company propaganda by heart, she had heard the justifications. Hell, she had written most of it. But she knew the truth. Despite everything they had done, despite all the danger they posed; killing them had been nothing less than murder. Nothing less and nothing more. It was shocking how little the thought affected her, now. Her first kill had been a messy affair. For a week or two after she had woken up with cold sweats. For months she had been consumed with guilt. Two hours ago she had shot her husband in the face and felt nothing but a small sense of relief.

Maybe it just hadn't hit her yet. She would probably be perfectly fine up until the realization completely settled in. And then she would collapse into a ball and weep until there was nothing left. She hoped that was the case. It would have meant she was still human enough to weep. But she doubted that it would be. She had given up on Tomoya a long time ago. And if there were any tears left in her than they would be reserved for people who didn't have a choice. Tomoya had always had the choice. He had simply chosen wrong. His victims hadn't been so lucky. Victims never were.

(BREAK)

(BREAK)

Tomoyo arched her back, let out one last gasp of pleasure, and then settled down on Sunohara's chest. He pulled her hair back and kissed her fiercely, then rolled her off. She laughed and lit up a cigarette and offered it to him. He took it, tasted her lips. Drew in the smoke and held it in until his lungs hurt, and then released it slowly.

"You're as romantic as ever." She said. "I would say my feelings are hurt if I thought it would matter."

Sunohara snorted, "If you want romance go watch a movie. Or better yet, find some other guy to fuck. Someone nice and sensitive."

"I'll do that one of these days, and you'll go back to spending your nights all alone."

"Good. I'll finally be able to get some sleep."

Tomoyo rolled her eyes and then sat up. Sunohara admired her body for a moment before looking back at the ceiling. She wasn't the prettiest woman he'd ever seen, but she was still enough to make any man happy.

"Have you spoken to Nagisa yet?" Tomoyo asked as she pulled her shirt over her head.

Sunohara took another long pull on the cigarette before answering.

"Yeah. She finished him off and went home. I'll brief her tomorrow."

Tomoyo nodded. "Was there any problems?"

"She didn't say and I didn't ask."

"I'll call her. She might need someone to talk to."

Sunohara didn't answer. He knew that he should probably care about that kind of thing, but the years working for the Company hadn't left him with much in the way of pity or compassion. Emotions like that weakened a man, turned him soft. Softness got people killed. A leader couldn't afford that kind of weakness. His duty was to mercilessly kill all those emotions within himself so that others could enjoy the luxury of having them. Or at least, that's what he told himself. The honest truth was that he just couldn't find the motivation to care anymore.

Tomoyo leaned over and kissed him, and then left. Sunohara kept smoking, and when the cigarette finally burned his fingers, he put it out and lit another. Tomoya was finally dead. They had been good friends, and then for a while they had been comrades. He had never hated Tomoya, even after all the betrayals, but he was happy he was gone. Things would be simpler now.

It was a long time before he finally went to sleep. He didn't have any dreams. That was another thing he had lost.


	3. Chapter 2: Beginnings

**Chapter 2: Beginnings**

Swarms of bugs fluttered around every streetlight, somehow making the heat of the summer night even more unbearable. The low thrum of thousands of air-conditioners and a few distant sirens formed the base which could be called the silence of a city. No place where men gather is ever truly silent, but the man who now wandered the streets believed that any noise which was constant could be ignored.

The buildings and the ambiance were such that to him they represented nothing human. An illuminated window was simply another cog in a machine, with no connection or indication of personality behind it. Perhaps if he had seen a person, he would have begun making these connections which most take for granted. However, as he had no person to view, there could be no understanding.

His naked feet slapped upon the ground as he walked, breaking the silence and thus proving his existence. This was his first thought. Understanding his own existence, he began contemplating his surroundings. He was in a jungle of iron and rock. A steady rhythm pulsed around him, the heartbeat of this living maze. Sewage leaked from alley-ways into the gutters, blood circulating as clearly as in any body. Anything that bled, existed. He was no longer alone. Swallowed by some enormous creature, he was aware of it in a way more intimate than any two lovers.

As suddenly as his arrival to this strange world, he was now given a sense of direction and purpose. His shambling was no longer aimless; and though his pace did not change, the look of his walk was entirely different from before. No witness existed, but if one had, they would have shied away in fear. A predator stalked the night, honing in on his prey.

The buildings around him began to change, from steel towers to squatter, hut-like structures. Chain fences lined the street, most ringed with razor-wire. The great massive, steel trees of the jungle had given way to rocks and shrubs and long, steel vines. The wanderer stopped for a moment, tasted the air, and moved on at the same slow, steady pace. Something distinctly familiar, yet unrecognizable, filled the air. A kind of sweet, sticky odor, or perhaps it was more like a taste, or even a change in color. Perhaps all of them at once and none at all. Whatever it was, to him it was a target.

The chain-link fence parted beneath his hands; shrieking in protest, yet incapable of preventing his passage. In front of him lay a long plain of black rock, with great multi-wheeled steel things sitting in lines of white. There, at the end of the strange clearing was a large, square structure with all manner of protuberances. Wide holes gaped, spilling light out onto the clearing, making the shadows even blacker. The man walked toward these openings, instinctively keeping to the shadows but making no real attempt to hide his presence or approach.

Voices. He recognized them for what they were as he drew closer to the opening. For a moment, he was unable to take a step or move. His steady pace finally broken by the momentous revolutions of understanding that now occurred within his mind. Humans existed. This building was no rock, the parking-lot no simple clearing. He was not in a jungle at all, but a vast dwelling of humanity. A nest of sorts. People had built all that he now saw. People lived and died here, and he now knew that in some ways he was one of them.

His stride, when he finally resumed, was quicker now, more intentful. The voices from within the warehouse grew louder and more distinct. He did not understand the language being used, but could still understand their meaning. The men inside were making a deal of some sorts. Tomorrow, if all things went as planned, workers would begin loading some kind of product into the semi-trucks. Those trucks would leave for a ship docked at the bay, and would then unload the product for movement to another country. The applicable authorities had been paid off for their approval and silence. These men only had themselves to deal with now. In some strange way, the wanderer was aware that the dealing was more important than all other processes which preceded it. The two men who were quickly closing in on a deal were more powerful and dangerous to each other than any authority. War had ended this night. Mutual fear and benefit had forged a dark alliance.

The voices stopped as soon as he reached the openning. A man in a black suit approached the wanderer, a confused look on his face. He reached into his coat. The wanderer smiled and reached out, brushed the man's neck with his fingertips. Hot red liquid sprayed and the man collapsed, clutching a ruined throat.

Loud bangs and screams shattered the relative quiet and filled the wanderers ears. He moved without pattern or goal. The screams grew more frantic, then ended as abruptly as they had begun. Only one man was left alive. Gibbering and pleading, he was a fat, short, balding fellow with a much more expensive suit than the others. He looked up in terror and disbelief at his attacker. The wanderer smiled, then closed the man's eyes. Now there was silence again. Nothing moved.

Blood dripped from the wanderer's fingers as he began scraping it along the walls. Marking out strange runes which represented his thoughts. Somehow, he knew this to be the correct course of action to take. He was unaware of the reasoning or purpose behind this new urge, but cared nothing for such things and so was equally undeterred. By the time he left the warehouse, the first hints of sun had already begun reddening the sky. He was now dressed in one of the black suits. A black outline in the crimson sky, the wanderer moved away, shambling along aimlessly. A specter unseen and unmarked by the humanity he had come to bring judgement upon.


	4. Chapter 3: Mysteries

**Chapter 3: Mysteries**

Sunohara lit the cigarette and brought it to his mouth, pulled on it deeply, held the smoke in until his lungs felt like they would collapse. He had been planning on quitting soon, but days like this made a mockery of his plans. The abuse of his lungs was half self-flagellation and half encouragement. Company opinion on it's employees practicing religion was vague disapproval, but policy was to tolerate it up to a certain point. Sunohara wouldn't go so far as to call himself religious, but he adopted some of it's better ideas for his own use. Punishing ones self for the sins of others might seem foolish to all but a few, but most people never plumbed the depths of what human were capable of wreaking upon each other. Those who did were often more sympathetic to the idea of necessary retribution, even unto the innocent. Some breaches of conduct required answering, regardless of guilt.

In the years he'd been spent leading up to this moment, Sunohara has seen, and done, horrible things. He'd waded through rivers of blood and worse for a long time, and it wasn't too often that he felt shaken by the scenes of carnage he inevitably found himself viewing. Rare indeed was something that rattled his entire world view. Depressed cynicism had kept expectations low and surprise lower. It was fascinating to think that such dedicated study in the art of controlling ones emotional reactions could still fail. The world always found a way to destroy illusions of grandeur. And in this moment, in the heat of a noon summer day, Sunohara now contemplated whether his vaunted cynicism was adequate to describe humanity's postion. Despair seemed much more appropriate.

He shifted his weight, flipped the hat back up on his head, and stood up, slapping his hands and rubbing them together. There was nothing to get off the corpses, if they could even be called that any more. How much could a body be torn apart before it ceased being a corpse? When the largest indication of man that remained unbroken was perhaps a finger bone and sprays of mottled skin, surely the term lost it's effective meaning. How many men, or woman for that matter, had been in the warehouse when it happened would remain unclear for a while. Even the Company forensics teams would have a hard time getting a read. They'd have to use the teeth, he thought. But then, what if one of these people had been toothless? Perhaps they would never know how many people had died.

But his job wasn't to find out how many victims there had been. He was here to find out why it happened, track down whoever was responsible, and eliminate them. These men might have been the slime of humanity, but they had contracts with the Company and that made them indispensable. To almost every world government, it also made them untouchable. Only a few groups would even consider trying to pull off a hit this big in Tokyo without prior approval from Sunohara. And he wouldn't have dreamed of approving anything like that without a direct order from up top.

The warehouse was filled with a mass of yellows and reds and whites. A meat grinder couldn't have done a finer job. An alarming lack of blood was explained by the scrawling that covered every wall and window. Rust streaks of scribbled writing. Mad exhortations and dark condemnations; the dispelling of a tortured, ravenous mind; had been expelled upon the walls in every conceivable language. Little of it was legible, so many times had it been covered by yet more writing. What was legible was even more disturbing to Sunohara than the gruesome manner in which it had been produced. Prophecies, their own truth and accuracy undoubted by the prophet they apparently belonged to, were scratched into steel to form a declaration of war and reckoning. A totem of universal meaning.

Sunohara spit on the floor and turned around, walked out into the sun. He lit up another cigarette and sighed. It was going to be a long summer.


	5. Chapter 4: Secrets

**Chapter 4: Secrets**

Names were powerful things. So powerful, in fact, that the old woman never allowed the use of hers, even in her own mind. In the worlds of men and demons, identification was the beginning of knowledge, and knowledge of a thing was power over it. She regretted that it was impossible for her to keep others from using some word or string of words to identify her. Old Woman, Crone, Boss, The Girl... all of them were titles that gave an impression of her essence. And every last one of them carried with it the potential to hold the same insidious power that her real name did. Eventually, she would have to find some way of getting around that inevitability.

Tomoya was one of those few who was aware of her real name. She had considered wiping his memory more than once; had even gone so far as to consider killing him. However, his power over her extended even further than the knowledge of who she truly was. As much as she could probably overpower him, in the end, the effort would certainly cost more than she was willing to pay.

It was in times like this that she reconsidered her judgement of the benefits and costs of ending his life.

He stood there in front of her, his respectful stance a mockery. She wanted to slap him for the arrogance of it, and only the knowledge that he was as uncomfortable with their arrangement as she was kept her from doing so. She stared at him for a long time, looking into his eyes, then leaned back and folded her hands on the wooden desk.

"I hope you are aware of what I will do to you, if you're lying to me." She said. Her voice surprising her, as always, gravelly and deep as it was. "I would not enjoy punishing you, but I think you would enjoy it less."

Tomoya grinned, "I think I would at that. In fact, I think I might end up doing something rather foolish if it came to that. It's a good thing I'm not lying."

The old woman nodded, and almost smiled herself. It was easy to see why Nagisa had fallen in love with this man, so many years ago. His grin was enough to light fires in any woman's heart.

"I would be much happier if you could prove your lack of involvement. As far as I'm aware, there is no one else with your particular skill set working in this city."

Tomoya motioned to the chair in front of her desk. She nodded and he sat down, sighing.

"Trust me, I wish I had been the one to do it. And I wouldn't mind telling you if I was. Takeru was scum and so was Kenzo. I know you didn't want them touched, but to be honest, I was considering ignoring that suggestion soon anyway." Tomoya said. "Besides, I'd reckon I'm more uncomfortable with this turn of events than you are."

"I highly doubt that. Unlike you, I don't have the luxury of ignoring the consequences of my actions. You have me to clean up after your messes, whereas I have no one but myself."

Tomoya leaned forward, "I've told you before that you have me. Just because you insist on pretending I'm not your-"

The old woman leapt up, "Say one more word and I will rip your goddamn tongue out of your mouth and send it to Nagisa as a present!"

Her face was red and her hands were shaking. Slowly, she calmed the rage boiling through her and forced it underneath where it usually rested. The anger at this situation, and at Tomoya in particular, never really faded, just lay dormant. Whenever the fool spoke of that subject he brought it back up to the surface, like throwing gas on hot coals.

Tomoya nodded, and she finally sat down.

"I won't say it then, if that's how you want it. But you and I both know eventually we're going to have to discuss this." Tomoya said. All signs of his earlier nonchalance were gone, now; replaced with that horrible concern the old woman had come to despise.

"If and when that happens, it will be under my terms." She snapped, looking away from his face. "I'm done with you for now. Get out of my sight."

Tomoya stood up, bowed once, and then began to leave.

"Tomoya."

He looked back at her.

"Do not reveal yourself to either Nagisa or Sunohara. For any reason. Do you understand me?"

Tomoya turned to leave, raising his hand up dismissively. "Whatever you say, girl."

The door shut behind him just as she flung her paperweight at it. She could swear that she heard laughter echoing down the hallway outside her office, but decided it wasn't worth the effort to chase after him.

"Idiot boy." She said to no one in particular.


	6. Chapter 5: Sorrows

**Chapter 5: Sorrows**

Clicks echoed up and down the hall. Heels might seem impractical, and in many ways they were, but Nagisa found that her appearance was her greatest ally. No one ever expected a small, wisp of a girl with a cute face to be capable of sudden, sustained violence. Her clothes only added to that misconception. Heels brought attention to you, but the right kind of attention. Men and women alike created an image of you based on your clothes and looks and dismissed you as a threat if the right triggers were put in place.

The walls and floors around her were white, sterile, and cold. The Company preferred to maintain an image just as she did, though on the opposite end of spectrum. Intimidation could be as effective as disinformation if the subject was capable of projecting upon it's enemies and allies that it was capable of all that it's appearance implied. It was part of what attracted her to the Company, this attention to detail. People were always more likely to make mistakes when they perceived their opponent to be near omnipotent and omniscient. It was paradoxical, but had been proven true more than once.

Nagisa was surprised yet again at her own resilience. She had always been sick as a child and teenager, and to some degree that had caused a kind of frailness both physical and mental. She was very acutely attuned to the suffering of others, and had always been deeply aware of her own role in causing it. Her condition had caused a great deal of inconvenience to others, and this had bred in her a kind of rawness.

That had begun to change with Ushio's death, and the death of her parents. Losing her daughter, mother and father in the same accident had nearly broken her, but somehow she had managed to hold on to sanity. Tomoya's subsequent betrayal had been, in some ways, an even greater shock. Looking back she was still not sure how she had dealt with it all. But she had, and those tragedies, along with all the others that followed them, had caused a hardening over the rawness. The sensitivity remained, and would always remain, but no longer did she allow it to rule her.

Tomoyo had come over the night before. Somehow knowing that the time had come, she appeared at Nagisa's door without a word. Without warning, the reality of Tomoya's death had slammed into her and before she knew it she was wailing like a babe, with Tomoyo holding her and rocking her gently back and forth. She had wept for hours, until there were no tears left, and then she had wept some more; cursing at the ruins of her life. When she had finally gone to sleep, she had dreams of better times with Tomoya and Ushio and her parents.

The sadness remained, and would always remain. But the hollow, grinding pain had begun to lift off of her soul; and Nagisa knew that she would not weep again.

(Break)

(Break)

(Break)

Tomoya preferred the seedier bars on the rare occasions when he drowned his sorrows in alcohol. The grimy, ugly inhabitants always seemed to be mirrors of himself, all of them drawn by some irresistible force to these low-lit hovels, like moths to a light. Companionship was neither expected, nor would it be accepted if offered. Fellowship withered and died in such places. No one cared about your problem or your history, most had given up caring about their own problems and were trying to forget their own histories. If there was communication, then it was non-verbal and inherently violent. A sharp glance and a hand slipping into one's pocket to grip an unseen weapon were enough to keep anyone who hadn't yet learned the unspoken rules of this place from breaking them. If a fight ever broke out, as they sometimes did, the loser was thrown into the street, dead or alive, and the winner received the glory of silent approval. In this world, those who lost were judged wrong by that oldest and truest of metrics: survival of the fittest.

Cheap sake rolled down Tomoya's throat and warmed his stomach. He hated alcohol, had always hated it, but even that hate was overshadowed by his recognition of it's efficacy. It was cheaper than most drugs and all women, and for someone like Tomoya, who still had a job to do, it was temporary. One night of pleasure and one day of pain and then weeks of the desperate, lingering nothingness. Doldrums that served as a break between the one moment of weakness and the next. Drink, puke, kill. Rinse and repeat. His life had not always been this way, but as all other men and women who found themselves in the cycle of self-destruction, one's history was removed from the equation. It served to frame the despair and give it weight, but nothing else. Faint memories of light that only proved the existence of darkness.

A subtle change in the atmosphere brought every head up from their drink, and focused the gazes of the dead upon a living thing that had somehow found its way into their world. Like a flower thrown into a trash dump. Tomoya sighed. She always found him, somehow. He supposed the Old Woman had her track him. Wise of her, if futile.

She glided through the bar like a ghost and slumped down at Tomoya's table, concern written clearly on her face. Eyes tracked her and settled their glare upon Tomoya for bringing this painful reminder of reality into their world. He bared his teeth in a snarl and glared back. Slowly the eyes drifted away, back to their own business. In this feral world, the only rules that existed were those that were upheld. He held the gaze long enough to serve as a warning, and then brought it back to the ghost before it became a challenge. The snarl became a smirk.

"What'r you doin' here?" The words were slightly slurred. "Come t' help me polish off this bottle? Get yer own."

Kyou sighed. "Let's go get some coffee."

Tomoya finished his sake and slammed it on the table; threw down whatever money was left in his pockets and stood.

"Alright then, ghost. Let's go."

(Break)

(Break)

(Break)

The glass doors slid open silently as Nagisa approached them. Inside was a large room filled with machinery so foreign to her that it could not be classified, nor could any single one be identified as separate from the others. To her it was all one massive thing, it's purpose and function beyond her comprehension or understanding. Kotomi stood in the middle of it all, goggles perched upon her head. A wide smile broke on her face.

"Nagisa!" She bounded over and grabbed Nagisa's hands. "It's been too long!"

"It has." Nagisa embraced her, and then stepped back. "Still in this room? You need to get out sometimes. Leave this all for someone else."

"Oh! But no one else could do it." Kotomi shook her head, "No. I couldn't possibly trust anyone else with this project."

"I'd heard the higher-ups were disappointed in the results. Will that effect your funding?"

Kotomi whirled away, laughing.

"You heard that did you?" She spun back around, a mischievous look upon her face. "That was my idea. The results weren't just not-disappointing, they were so encouraging that the CEO came to visit me yesterday. He promised me full funding and more staff members."

Nagisa blinked.

"It worked? But why the disinformation? I don't understand."

Kotomi leaned in close. "It's too hard to explain. I'll show you."

(Break)

(Break)

(Break)

Tomoya shifted uncomfortably in the bright red, plastic chair. Kyou hadn't spoken since they left the bar, just stared at him. He was already beginning to sober and his head had begun pounding. He wanted more sake, but knew she would try to make it physical if he went to get more. He could beat her in a fight, but he would never do it, not to her. She had sacrificed too much for him.

However, her silence was still annoying.

"You know, I think this place might be even more depressing than the bar. If you wanted to cheer me up, you certainly could have picked something a little less bright." Tomoya said. "I've exchange one slow death for another." He pointed at the burger and fries in front of him.

"You need to stop this. You can't keep doing this every time you talk to her." Kyou said. "I don't have time to drag you out of a bottle just because you're feeling depressed."

"If you would all mind your own business than you wouldn't have to." He snapped.

Kyou reached across the table and slapped him, hard. He growled at her and raised his hand. A few of the other customers looked over at them, and quickly looked away when Kyou glared at them.

"How dare you say that to me?" Kyou's face was flushed bright red, as if he had slapped her. "How dare you say that about _her_? Do you have any idea what this does to her, or are you too consumed with self-pity to even care?"

Tomoya let his hand drop slowly. His head was still ringing from the hit and the alcohol, and he didn't trust himself yet.

"I'm too goddamn tired for lectures tonight, Kyou, and I'm too goddamn drunk to care about restraining myself. Hit me again and I'll hit back." He was proud of how calm he kept his voice, "I never asked for your help, or hers."

"Try and think of someone else for once in your life! You really think you're the only one whose lost something? You think you're the only one in pain?"

Tomoya laughed bitterly, the rage flowing out of him like water. "No, I don't. I never said I was. I just think I'm the only one who hasn't learned to accept it."

"Well get used to it." Kyou said, then leaned in and touched his face. "I'm sorry I hit you. I didn't hurt you did I?"

"Don't be sorry. I deserve worse." Tomoya brushed her hand away gently. "Besides, I've been hit harder by children. You're getting soft."

Kyou snorted, "Maybe next time I won't hold back and we'll see how soft I've become. Now, eat your food."

Tomoya didn't want to argue, so he nodded and began eating, and was surprised that it didn't taste half bad.

(Break)

(Break)

(Break)

"I don't understand." Nagisa said. "These dots, they're fluctuations in the Illusionary World?"

Kotomi shook her head, "Not exactly. They represent points in time that our world and the Illusionary World have collided. The larger the dot, the larger the collision."

Nagisa leaned in closer to the paper that spread the length of the table. It was covered in dots, all different sizes and colors. Despite multiple explanations, she still couldn't make any sense of it. Kotomi was a very intelligent person, probably the most intelligent person alive. But she wasn't very good at explaining herself sometimes.

"And this tells you what? I mean, we've known for a while that our worlds are colliding. This is all interesting, but I don't see how useful it is."

"It's incredibly useful!" Kotomi looked and sounded hurt. "And we may have _known_ our worlds were colliding, but up to this point we hadn't had the proof. Now we have both the proof and a way of tracking the collisions."

Nagisa looked up skeptically, "Ah, I see. You're right, this is very interesting."

Kotomi sighed. "Here, let me try to explain again." She pointed at the first dot on the graph, "This represents the furthest back that we can accurately gauge both time and effect. It's about twenty years ago. It's a minor collision. I'm sure there were some before it, but pinning down exactly where and when is more difficult the further we go back."

"Okay..." Nagisa said, still confused.

"But notice how the dots get bigger as they go on? And more frequent?" Kotomi's voice was almost shaking with excitement. "Every time we have a collision, it causes a ripple. And those ripples cause more collisions!"

"But why color them differently?" Nagisa pointed to the largest dot on the graph. It was bright green. "This one is the same color as a bunch of other ones. What's the pattern?"

Kotomi leaned forward, "That's the most amazing part. I've pinned down the collisions, and I'm positive: they all connect to people. Human action causes the collisions! Certain people have caused multiple collisions! And that dot, that green one. Well... that person has caused more collisions than anyone else. By far. And they're still causing collisions as we speak."

Nagisa felt something close to terror rising up to grip her chest. She knew the answer before she asked it, and dreaded what it meant; but she asked anyway.

"And who is that person?"

Kotomi smiled.

"Tomoya Okazaki."

Nagisa swallowed. Her hands began to shake.

"I killed Tomoya. Why are his dots still appearing?"

Kotomi was a lot like Nagisa, in a way. They had both been inured to loss. But unlike Nagisa's own losses, Kotomi's had all occurred when she was much younger. Unlike Nagisa, she didn't have the innate sensitivity to recognize the suffering of others. It wasn't that she was mean-spirited or willfully inconsiderate. In fact, she was very considerate, in her own way. But growing up in a harsh world with a harsh past had created a kind of barrier within her. She just didn't understand emotions in the same way other people did. So she didn't hesitate to answer Nagisa's question, with a broad smile on her face. Pure joy at bringing what she thought was good news.

"Isn't it wonderful, Nagisa? You couldn't have killed Tomoya! I don't know how, but he's still alive!"

Nagisa sank to the floor, weeping. It never ended, that pain. She had been a fool to think otherwise.


	7. Chapter 6: Prophets

**Chapter 6: Prophets**

He stood at the center of the broad field, grey clouds rolling across the sky above him. Flashes of light in the dark were followed by booming thunder, streaks of burning white amid a blanket of black. Fat drops of water fell upon his face, tickling his skin and filling his eyes. His golden hair was plastered to his forehead. A harsh wind whipped across the field, bending the emerald, waist high weeds so that they brushed back and forth across his fingertips.

The woman who was truly a girl approached him from the forest that ringed the large clearing. She was wearing a white dress that was somehow dry despite the heavy rain, her hair long and light brown. The man who was truly a boy stood still, watching her come closer, a smile of pure joy gracing her small, pretty face. She stopped a few steps in front of him and held out her hand toward him.

"You should come home. The storm will only get worse." Her voice was light in all the wind. "It will be night soon."

The man looked back up at the twisting sky, then back down at her.

"Who am I?" He said softly, almost a whisper. "Is this a dream?"

She laughed. "No, it's not a dream."

He shook his head to clear it. Clouds darker than those above him covered his mind, casting his past beyond either conception or recollection. It seemed as though he had been born in this field, or rather, had always existed there.

"I was dead."

"Yes you were. But you are not dead any longer." She stepped forward and took his hand in hers. "There will be plenty of time for explaining later. For now, come home with me and we'll get you dry."

He nodded slowly then let her pull him toward the forest.

(BREAK)

(BREAK)

Sunohara waited at the end of the alley. The music blasting from the night-club was loud enough to rattle the trash-can lids next to him. The bouncer at the door, a few feet away, kept a wary eye on him, but knew well enough not to interfere with Company business. Sunohara glanced at his watch, and then calmly pulled out his gun and crouched behind the trash-cans. A door slammed open in the alley and the music, already loud, grew deafening for a moment. The door slammed closed. Footsteps slapped closer, closer.

Sunohara leapt up and swung the gun around, holding onto the barrel. The bottom of the grip smashed into the man's face, crushing nose and teeth. The man screamed and sprawled backwards. His hands dug into his pants line, but Sunohara was already bringing his boot down on the man's groin. Another scream shattered the night, just as the door slammed open again and three men stumbled out. They looked both ways and then came walking toward Sunohara, who had flipped the man over and was cuffing his hands behind his back.

"Little bastard pulled a knife on us." One of the men said. "Almost gutted Eita."

"I'll be fine." Eita mumbled. He was pressing his hands against his side. "Been cut worse by my wife."

Sunohara stood up, dragging the moaning man up with him.

"Take him and put him in the van. And don't hurt him any more than you have to. I need him talking." He said.

They nodded and took the man, dragging him down him down the alley. Sunohara picked his hat up, which had fallen during the fight, and put it back on his head. He walked out of the alley and to the bouncer.

"Tell your boss we appreciate his cooperation in this." Sunohara slapped a few bills into the bouncer's hand. "His daughter will be moved to our hospitals tomorrow."

The bouncer nodded and Sunohara left him, walking back down the alley. At the other end, the van was waiting. He was getting closer to finding his quarry. It was only a matter of time now.

(BREAK)

(BREAK)

Tomoyo felt like throwing up, and would have if the terror hadn't already gripped her belly with iron bands. She had heard Sunohara describe the victims in the warehouse, but she now realized that some things were beyond description. They defied identification or recognition except to those who experienced them directly.

The stink of human blood and flesh was overpowering; mixed horribly with the rotten stink of other bodily fluids, it was enough to make her gag though she had been in it for a couple minutes. She didn't think anyone could get used to this smell, or this sight. Killing was one thing, hell, torture was one thing. This was something entirely different. Something born of madness. No human could be responsible for this devastation, but no animal could be so mindlessly brutal. Whatever had done this was wholly different than anything else that had ever preceded it.

All of this was defied by the fact that there, in the center of the room, stood the man responsible. Crimson stains covered him and his black suit, so that he seemed a figure of entirely black and red. Grinning red teeth. Blood dripping from his fingers. He stared at Tomoyo, unmoving.

Tomoyo felt as though she should recognize him. As though she had seen him before. Perhaps in her nightmare's as a child. If there was a devil, than this was surely it.

"These people were innocent. They were fucking office workers!" She shouted, fists clenched. "What the fuck do you want that you had to kill them?"

The wild grin widened. He pointed at the wall to his right. He began speaking in a foreign language, grinning the whole time. His voice was deep and sure, like a religious preacher.

"What the hell are you saying?" Tomoyo took a step forward. "Speak clearly!"

"And God said unto Abraham, Take your son, your only son, whom you love—Isaac—and go to the region of Moriah. Sacrifice him there as a burnt offering on a mountain I will show you."

"And what the hell does that mean? Huh? God told you to kill these people?" She shouted back.

"God communes with no man. His wishes are known by no man." The figure reached out both arms and lifted them up, as if opening himself to a heavenly embrace. "We are all as dust and ashes. From dirt were we born and to dirt shall we fall. Judgement belongs to the Lamb, and only the Lamb's blood shall be shed."

Tomoyo shook her head. This was nonsense. She calmed herself and began walking forward slowly, letting her arms and shoulder relax.

"God or not, I'm going to make you pay for this." She said, then leapt forward.

The man slid around her punch like water and lashed out with his hand. She slapped it away just before it reached her throat and kicked at his knee, and missed. She continued the spin and dropped low, dodging another strike. Her hands came up under his chin, connected, but then flew high as he arched backward. Her elbow raced down toward his stomach, but he was already twisting away. She pursued him, then backed off quickly, narrowly avoiding a kick to her midsection.

Tomoyo put her guard up and came back in. As hard as it was to believe, he was faster than her, and obviously stronger. She had to end this quickly. She feinted right, but he didn't take the bait. They circled each other, sure-footed despite the slippery ground. He was still grinning. Tomoyo feinted right again, then came in hard with a low kick. He blocked the kick with his foot and stomped down, crushing her foot beneath his. Tomoyo tried to throw herself backward, but was too late. His hand shot out and gripped her hair, the other swinging around for a punch. Tomoyo watched it come in slow motion, and then her world exploded in a flash of white. She felt her nose break under the pressure. Another blow to her stomach blasted the air from her lungs, doubling her over.

His knee started to come up, but she lurched forward into a single-leg lock. Her right leg shot out behind his, just as his elbow smashed into the back of her head. Both fell to the ground, with her straddling him. She was dizzy, and still couldn't see straight, but she began raining blows down on his face anyway. The man bucked under her, throwing her slightly off balance, then arched up on his head and feet and twisted. She locked her knees and rolled with him, flinging him off of her and into a desk.

She popped up and almost screamed as the arch of her already injured foot snapped under the pressure of her weight.. He was already coming in with another punch. She took the blow, but twisted her head at the last moment to throw off the full force. It still was enough to stagger her. Another kick to her shin knocked her off balance, but somehow she remained standing, and managed to narrowly avoid an uppercut that would have ended it. The man kept on the pressure, hands flicking out like bolts of lighting. She kept them away with last-second parries, frantically backing up. Finally she stumbled and the man shot forward, using his size and weight to bring her down.

Tomoyo jackknifed, grabbed the man's hair and bit down on his neck. Her teeth punctured skin and hot blood ran down her throat, choking her. The man grunted and then began pounding on her sides. She gasped involuntarily, a fountain of his blood and hers erupting from her mouth as her ribs began snapping. She weakly tried to elbow him but he locked her arm and dislocated her elbow. She screamed and began thrashing, somehow managing to free a leg and kicked hard on his shoulder, throwing him off.

He stood up slowly, hand clamped on his bleeding throat. The grin was still on his face. Tomoyo kicked at the ground, scrabbling away from him. He began walking toward her slowly. She knew it was over but managed to summon the courage for one final kick at his lower shin. He caught her leg with one hand and twisted.

Pain like nothing she had ever felt ripped up her leg and spine as her knee snapped. She screamed again, and blacked out. When she came to, he was standing above her, looking down. The grin had finally faded, replaced by a look of respect. And pity.

"I have bested you on your own terms. No more will I play this game." He spoke as before; the deep rumbling of a radical preaching to a horde of penitent worshipers. "It is well that I have met you. I am reminded now of my existence and renewed with the forgiveness of God. As the prophets in the desert served Israel, you shall serve as the witness of my coming. Rejoice, for now is your purpose known."

Tomoyo tried to speak, but the pain in her lungs was too great. She was going to die, but she felt no fear or regret. The man reached down and covered her face with his hand, as if preparing a baptism, then squeezed. Tomoyo's last thought was one of comfort. No one could beat this thing in a fight, but Sunohara wasn't a fighter. Youhei Sunohara was a killer.


	8. Chapter 7: Pasts

**Chapter 7: Pasts  
**

**(Seven Years Ago)**

Tomoya jumped out of the van, slammed the door shut, and waved as Yusuke drove off. It was dusk, and the summer air smelled sweet; the sky a faint pink and purple. Tomoya stretched for a moment, then bounded up the stairs to his apartment, feeling tired and empty, but content. He swung the door open, and opened his mouth to announce his arrival, when a small form blurred across the room and slammed into him, knocking the air out of his lungs.

"Ushio!" Nagisa rounded the corner of the kitchen, wearing an apron. "Let him get in the house before you jump him!"

Tomoya coughed and managed to wheeze a laugh with some effort, then picked up his daughter and swung her up, laughing, until she was face to face with him.

"Daddy! Daddy! I drew you a picture!" Ushio giggled, then held a piece of paper up. "See! It's all of us!"

Tomoya shifted her onto one arm and took the picture with his other hand. He looked at it as he stepped inside and swung the door closed, then burst out laughing.

"Is this me?" He asked, pointing at a stick figure with absurdly huge muscles standing next to two smaller figures.

"Yep! And that's mommy and me!" Ushio declared proudly. "I drew it in school today!"

Tomoya leaned over and kissed Nagisa, ignoring an overly dramatic noise of disgust from his daughter.

"It's a wonderful drawing! Hishikawa Moronobu couldn't have done any better!" Tomoya set his daughter down. "I'm starved! What smells so good?"

"Dinner." Nagisa said, the pointed toward their living room. "Now go away while I finish it."

(Break)

(Break)

"Your name is Sunohara?"

Sunohara looked up to the rear-view mirror, then back down to the road.

"Yes, sir. Youhei Sunohara."

The old man nodded. "How long have you been driving for us?"

"Four years and seven months. I usually drive the taxi though."

"Yes. However, I think it's time you were promoted. Hayashida says you are his best worker." The old man looked out the window. "We'll be needing more workers like you in the future. Men with ambition."

Sunohara glanced up at the mirror again, the man was looking at him.

"I don't know if I would agree that I'm the best worker. I'm thankful you think so highly of me, Mr. Kuwahara, but I don't think I'm very ambitious either. I just do my job."

"Indeed. And yet, you accepted this assignment without argument."

Sunohara shrugged. "It pays better."

"And if it paid less? Would you have still taken it?" The old man was staring at him.

"No." Sunohara said. "I apologize if that sounds rude."

Kuwahara chuckled softly. "It doesn't sound rude at all. And that is exactly what I mean about your ambition. Any other driver in our company would have taken this assignment gladly, just for the opportunity of speaking with me. And then they would have been too intimidated to speak to me plainly."

Sunohara didn't know how to reply so he stayed silent. Kuwahara seemed content to stare out the window. It was raining, but the city streets were still full of pedestrians.

"Sir, if you don't me asking; why didn't you use your normal driver for this?" Sunohara asked.

It was a long time before Kuwahara responded. Finally, he let out a long sigh.

"Unfortunately, my normal driver had to be let go. He was disloyal." The man stroked his grey, well-trimmed beard. "All the skill and ambition in the world is useless if it is not tempered with loyalty. It is a fact that too many men do not understand."

"How loyal does a driver have to be?"

"Loyal enough to be trusted with my life."

(Break)

(Break)

Sleep. Endless, dreamless sleep. Waiting. The man had no body, no form, no emotion. In the blackness there was nothing to indicate existence. Nothing at all.


	9. Chapter 8: Loves

Chapter 8: Loves

(Seven Years Earlier)

Tomoya woke suddenly, drenched in a cold sweat. The nightmare quickly fading from his mind, receding back to the depths of his soul. The same dream had periodically haunted him for a long time now, since Ushio's birth. Nagisa shifted beside him, mumbling in her sleep. Tomoya put his hand on her back to make sure she was truly there, then sighed in relief and stood up, careful to keep from waking her.

He walked out into the living room and then across to Ushio's room. He opened the door softly, and tip-toed to her sleeping form. He bent over and touched his daughter's face gently, and sighed again and stood back up. Her soft snores were the only noise that broke the silence. She looked so peaceful and helpless, lying there. He slowly sank to his knees and couldn't help keep the tears from flowing.

The dream was always the same. Nagisa died while giving birth to Ushio, leaving Tomoya alone. Then Ushio died too. The first few times he had the dream, he had simply assumed that it was nerves from being a new father, and sure enough it had faded away after a while. And he had completely forgotten it for more than a year. Then it had suddenly returned. Once again he spoke to the family doctor about it, and was assured that it was just stress. And the dream had faded again. The third time it returned, Tomoya didn't bother going to the doctor.

For some reason, even though he knew it was just a nightmare, the dream had always left him weeping when he woke. Shivering and sweating like an old man who contemplates his own mortality on a hot night. It just felt so real, and every time he woke from it, he had to check to make sure that his wife and daughter were still alive and well. It was part of the reason he had never taken a job that didn't allow him to spend the night at home. He didn't know what he would do if he wasn't able to check on them after he woke.

Footsteps behind him made him swing around. Nagisa stood in the doorway, slim body silhouetted in the moonlight. She opened her arms silently, and he rose and embraced her, hugging her tight. Feeling her smooth, warm skin against his body.

"Come back to bed." She whispered softly, and then took his hands and led him back to their room.

(Break)

(Break)

Sunohara followed Kuwahara out into the rain to the large black car. It was hard for him to decide whether the new suit or the gun holstered under his armpit felt more unnatural. Both were "gifts" from Kuwahara. He didn't know why a driver would need these things, but Kuwahara had insisted. Either way, the money was what was important. Mei had recently been accepted into a very fine college. A very expensive college. Sunohara wasn't the most loving older brother, but he did know his duty. Mei wouldn't be going to a cheaper college. Not while he was still able to work.

Once they were in the car and on their way, Sunohara finally felt comfortable. For some reason, ever since he had begun driving for Kuwahara, a sense of unease and suspicion had gripped him whenever they were out in the open. Maybe it was the gun, or the way Kuwahara spoke sometimes, with a kind of resignation; or maybe it was just nerves from the new job. In a way, he was strangely grateful for the gun. He had never fired one and didn't even know if he could, but having it gave him an eery sense of control.

The traffic was lighter than usual, but still heavy enough that they spent most of their time stopped at lights. It might have been faster to walk, but Sunohara wasn't going to complain. If Kuwahara wanted to pay him to be late, he wouldn't argue. Whatever the reason it was that made Kuwahara prefer driving, it certainly wasn't laziness. Sunohara had never met someone who was so obsessed with physical and mental exercise.

The light turned from red to blue and Sunohara pressed the pedal. He glanced to his left and immediately stomped on the gas and jerked the wheel to the left, trying to present as small a target as possible. A moment later the pickup truck slammed into the side of the car, spinning it around. Sunohara's head cracked against the window and he blacked out.


End file.
